By the autumn of 1737 Nadir Shah had advanced into the Punjab plains. The Mughal army went out of Delhi to check his progress. Amongst the commanders was Nawab Samsamuddaulah. I prayed for a Mughal victory and the safe return of my patron.

One day in the spring of AD 1738 the two hosts clashed at Karnal. Allah granted victory to the Persians; the Mughals were routed. Amongst the thousands who attained martyrdom was Nawab Samsamuddaulah, royal paymaster, patron and protector of Meer Taqi Meer. No panegyric I write in his praise could do justice to his greatness and magnanimity. He was like a rain-cloud of generosity above my head. May Allah rest his noble soul in peace! I was left with no one to shield me from the darts of envious pen-pushers. Neither was there anyone before whom I could spread the apron of my poverty. I was left poor, weak, helpless and alone. ‘It is in the nature of lighting to strike; it has struck your nest O Meer!’

No sooner did I hear of the disaster at Karnal, than I hired a horse and took the road to Agra. There was no need to join any caravan as the entire route was one long caravan of people fleeing from Delhi to neighbouring towns and villages. On the way more than the Iranians we feared our own countrymen—Marathas, Jats and Gujars who robbed and killed any man they could lay their hands on and raped any woman who fell into their clutches. It took me five days to reach Agra. By then Nadir’s horde was busy pillaging and looting Delhi. I said to myself: ‘No matter, a city can be rebuilt and repopulated, but no power on earth can put together a heart that has been shattered.’

Agra was the city of my heart’s ruination. I returned to see with my own eyes the debris that remained. Friend, it is my business to cry, how long will you keep wiping tears from my eyes! I recalled how our liaison had progressed and how we were carried away by our infatuation like paper-boats cast on a powerful stream. Love is an affliction which spares no one, neither the old nor the young, neither married nor single. How in my infatuation I had strewn flowers of homage at her feet; how a woman, who I had at first not thought particularly beautiful, had become the most beautiful, had become the most beautiful in the world to me after she became my beloved. In a mehfil of fair women, she had shone like the full moon amidst a galaxy of stars; her smile was like a rose-bud burgeoning into full bloom; her tresses lent their fragrance to the morning breeze; all this she became to me because she was cast in the mould of my desire. That this woman should have proved false to me and taken on another lover was beyond my comprehension.